


Lone Wolf

by yuletide_archivist



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-22
Updated: 2005-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:32:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1624478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa reflects on her siblings.  Set between "Storm of Swords" and "Feast For Crows"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lone Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Voleuse

 

 

Petyr once asked her if she ever thought of her siblings. He was in a foul mood and Sansa knew that he was doing his best to make her cry. She summoned all her strength and coolly replied that she had given them little thought when they were still a family and she could hardly be expected to think of them now that they were gone. Thankfully another matter distracted him and she was able to sneak away and crumble in the privacy of her quarters. She never intended to think of her brothers and sister but thoughts of them would sneak in when her mind was trying to occupy itself with other things.

She had recently seen a squire that reminded her of Robb. He was the same age her brother had been when she had last laid eyes on his form and though the squire's hair was blond instead of red and his eyes were of a different color he had the same air of a boy who was just learning what it meant to be a man. Her relationship with Robb had in many ways been the most pleasant one she had shared with all her siblings. Even as children she had been proud of him and the way he carried himself. Whereas Theon would often walk around as if he was trying his best to walk like a king, Robb would stride with an effortless kingly grace. Arya had once asked her if it bothered her that they would never have a chance of inheriting Winterfell and Sansa said with completely honesty that as long men like her father and Robb held that title she wouldn't want to take it away.

Every time she saw a bird take flight or a rabbit scamper quickly away her thoughts raced to Bran. She had longed to understand Bran and the streak of pure wild energy that coursed through him. It had often been a struggle for her to see his exploits as unacceptable. Nothing was more natural for her then to see him run and jump around. In the first days after his fall her mother had forbidden all the children from going to visit Bran. They were allowed no further then his closed doors. Septa Mordane had done her best to distract Sansa with embroidery projects and new patterns but all Sansa could focus on was the one brief glance she had stolen of Bran after he fell. His entire body had been completely still and as her father forced her to turn away she realized it was the first time she had seen him that still. Even as a small child when he would fall asleep in their mother's lap his legs would kick or his arms would swing around. Sansa had worked her entire life to learn the art of perfect repose but the thought of that lifestyle thrust upon her brother appalled on a level that she couldn't quite comprehend. Even now the thought of him as being dead almost made more sense to her then the thought of him as being paralyzed.

Her recollections of Rickon were vaguer and would come less frequently. There was little to provoke them and Sansa found that her clearer memories were those of Rickon right after he was born rather then Rickon at the age of three. He had been a fussy baby and her mother stayed pale and sickly looking for a few months after his birth. Her father had urged them all to speak quietly around their mother and to behave because she needed to concentrate on their new baby brother. Sansa had taken his request to heart and devoted herself to bringing Bran and Arya to some semblance of calm. She could still feel the touch of her mother's palm to her cheek and her gentle words of thanks for being such a helpful daughter. Sansa held that moment up higher then almost any other in her memory.

Her thoughts of Jon were tinged with bitter regret for the way she had treated him. She had never spoken to him with harsh words like her mother but she had pointedly made no attempt to embrace him as a real brother. Now as word of his leadership at the Wall spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms she couldn't help but think of how little she knew of her half brother. She could paint a more detailed picture of Theon then she could of Jon and grieved her that though he was likely her only living sibling she was separated from him by far more then miles and duty. Though Stark blood ran through both their veins he was a complete stranger to her. She knew her father would have been proud to see how far he had risen and as she reflected on how alike in appearance and manner the two had been that same pride would swell in her.

It was Arya that she thought about the most. There was no one thing that would flood her with thoughts of her younger sister. She would wake up with her ears ringing at the memory of some awful thing one sister had said to another. The darkest nights were the ones in which she wasn't able to sleep at all because the only image her mind would conjure was what Arya had looked like on the day that she had taken Joffrey's side in that horrible fight they had. Sansa often attempted to search back to some point in time in which she had gotten along with Arya and had always been unsuccessful. She knew she loved her sister and would do almost anything to see her again but it confused her that she was unable to come up with one pleasant memory they had shared together. The closest she could come to was one afternoon shortly before the direwolves had come to Winterfell. Robb and Jon had been practicing with their wooden swords in the yard and Septa Mordane had taken ill so Sansa and Arya had been left with the afternoon to what they pleased with. They had both ended up in the yard watching their brothers fight. It was a good natured fight but both boys were daily improving their fighting skills and as Sansa watched them she felt they sparkled with all the courage and talent of the bravest and most famous knights. A smile broke across her face and she felt herself glowing with admiration for them both. She caught Arya's eyes and saw her sister was caught up in the same fervor of feelings she was. They squeezed hands and watched their brothers in companionable silence until their mother had come along and taken them in for tea. Arya ended up spilling tea on Sansa's skirt and they had gone to bed that night not speaking to each other.

Now as she lay in bed she could hear them all speaking to her. Robb's deepening voice, Bran's exuberant shouts, Arya's loud yelps, Rickon's baby speech and even Jon's gentle cadence. The sound was far from a comforting one but her heart swelled as she thought of herself as once again surrounded by family. The sounds danced around each other and melded and as she closed her eyes and waited for even an uneasy sleep to take her they seemed to join into one solo sound. The sound of a howling wolf.

 

 

 


End file.
